These Things We Hate
by on rooftops
Summary: I refuse to bring more gingers into this world. — Ten things about the next-generation, includes Scorpius/Rose, Lucy/Lorcan, Molly/Lysander, and Lily/Teddy.
1. ten flaws roger wood found

**A/N** : Story behind this : I wanted to do a « Ten Things About Next-Gen Characters » thing, but those are overdone. Of course, this might be overdone too, but right now I think it's ingenious. Because, obviously, everything I do is. (just joking, gosh.) This is 10 Things I Hate About You Next-Gen style. I'm going in order of age; this is Victoire from the point of view of Roger Wood (in my mind, Oliver Wood and Katie Bell's son).

**Disclaimer:** harry potter and lady gaga lyrics do not belong to me.

l'histoire première :: ten flaws roger wood found in perfection

_je veux ton amour et je veux ton revanche_

Ten10Dix

The first time you looked at me, you didn't see me. You walked into Double Transfiguration our second year and sat down beside your Ravenclaw friends and dropped your bag on my foot (which was heavy, by the way). You glanced at me to apologize, but you didn't _see_ me. If you had, you wouldn't have been surprised when I grabbed the snitch from where it was hiding behind your deadly-gorgeous-gold-white hair in the first Quidditch game of the season a week later – Gryffindor versus Ravenclaw. If you had seen me that first day, you might have paid attention to how I was marking you throughout the game, might have seen that the snitch was drawn to you, the way we all were.

Nine09Neuf

You didn't think we could be friends because I wasn't a Ravenclaw and because I didn't speak fluent French. Those were just stupid excuses that you told me to spare my feelings and because you believed that I was an imbecile, that I'd never fit in with your oh-so-glamorous lifestyle. I wish you had known from the start that I was prepared to learn French for you, that I was ready to become anything. And if I failed, I'd fake it all for you.

Eight08Huit

You still looked beautiful the day he broke up with you – you were out by the lake and the rain was falling – just falling, straight down – and your hair was plastered to your scalp and your smile was gone and I was terrified that he had stolen it forever. You looked straight at me and told me you thought boys were stupid. And I was glad (right then) that you had never considered me a boy, just your best friend.

Seven07Sept

You would never have considered me as anything other than your best friend if Dom hadn't kissed me at the Gryffindor Party at the end of seventh year. If Dom hadn't grabbed me and pressed her soft hands against my face and hissed, "You'd better be bloody grateful for this, Roger." If she hadn't slid her Firewhiskey poisoned lips against mine, and if I hadn't acted like I wanted her, you never would have seen me as anything more than your sympathetic-punching-bag. But just as I was about to deepen the kiss and really taste Dom (because, hell, if we were going to do it, might as well do it right) you stormed over and peeled her off me and asked,

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?"

And Dom just muttered "de rien" (_you're welcome_) to me and slunk off; see, she knew that you only wanted things that seemed hard to get, things that somebody else had.

She made me desirable to you. I hate that that's what it took.

Six06Six

The first time you took me to a family gathering as Roger, your boyfriend, you made sure I looked perfect. Not to impress your parents, because they already knew me, they already loved me, but to make Teddy jealous. When you introduced me to him, you were really begging him to fight for you. I always thought that if I got you – no matter how – I'd be forever happy. I realized that day that I was not all right with being second-to-him. Second's just another term for loser. I never thought that if I had you I'd still somehow lose you.

Five05Cinq

After that day you always made sure you looked more than perfect (an absurd desire, because you couldn't be any more perfect) when we'd go out. All the other guys would be watching you. And they'd be jealous of me because I was with you, but I'd be jealous of them because they were so disastrously, dangerously, luckily naïve.

Four04Quatre

I hated when you turned on your shine, like how you got your job at the ministry by hypnotizing them with your positive-absolute-gorgeousness. I wish you'd realize that you have more – so much more – going for you than just your Veela genes.

Three03Trois

Dom was there when I asked your father for permission to marry you (because I am old-fashioned and at that time I thought that was one of the things you actually loved about me.) She went and told you that Teddy wanted you back, because she was afraid for me, afraid that I was still second to him. And you told her, "That's too bad. I've already got my guy." I hate that the way you acted made even Dom doubt how you felt about me.

Two02Deux

When we first found out you were pregnant, you were more scared than excited, even though I told you it'd be perfect. I told you we'd make good parents and that we'd help each other out. You didn't believe me until you held Etoile in your arms. And then you thought that I was the one who had been scared of that little screaming bundle.

One01Un

From the moment I first saw you, long before you first saw me, when McGonagall called you to the Sorting Hat and you left the line ahead of me, from that moment, you've held me captive.

**A/N:** Review? I want to know what you guys think of the concept, of the style, of Victoire (who I can't make myself like. Which might show in this, just maybe.)

Next up, Dom & a Slytherin. Because I like mixing my houses.


	2. geoffrey nott counts ten cracks

**A/N:** These are addicting.

**Disclaimer: **Harry Potter & Paramore don't belong to me.

Credit for some aspects of my characterization of Dominique goes to LikeAVision and her epically fabulous "The SkinAndSkeleton Girl". Read it, and you'll always see Dom the way she's written her.

the second story : geoffrey nott counts ten cracks in dom's wall

_you are the only exception_

**10.**

The Sorting Hat was so mistaken when it put you in Gryffindor. I know, I know, you're a Weasley, and Weasleys are _always_ Gryffindors. But Vic isn't (and don't you dare say that she's not a Weasley, because you know she is). And you don't even have the Weasley red hair – yours is blonde (okay, right now it's pink. But not red). Stop looking like you're about to murder me, Dominique. You were made for Slytherin, and I have no idea why in hell the Sorting Hat didn't put you with me. But at least you don't hold prejudices like the rest of your House. If you did, you never would have convinced Vaisey to bring you back to the Slytherin common room first weekend and you never would have found me cowering behind the armchair in the corner and you never would have stared at me like you were looking at some strange anomaly and you never would have held out your small-pale-soft hand and said in a voice as hard as the diamonds in your eyes "You can't go through life being afraid."

(I was eleven, so I didn't know what love was, but at that moment I think I worshiped you.)

**09.**

All your bravery, all your exuberant courage, was just a clichéd front. You were scared of everything, but most afraid of showing your fear, so you acted and acted and acted until even you began to believe that you weren't scared. Weren't scared of being forgotten, weren't afraid of losing to Victoire, weren't scared of being alone.

After a while, I think even I began to believe you. You acted like you lived for the spotlight, like you were five minutes away from exploding into ecstatic joy and carrying us all with you.

I wish I had realized that you thought you were always two breaths away from disappearing.

**08.**

The first time you dyed your hair was the only time that I wished that you had chosen a bloody idiotic Gryffindor for your friend. Because I wanted to tell you that your parents might-maybe-just-maybe be pissed at you and that your sister would probably drag you through a few public rows. (I wanted to tell you that I loved your blonde hair, that I didn't think my dreams (fantasies) could handle it if you dyed it.) But I couldn't say those things because you needed someone to be supportive, and a Gryffindor would have done a better job but I stepped up because you needed me to.

So you dyed your hair purple and your parents were pissed and Victoire shouted at you in front of the whole school (for a Ravenclaw she's got a mad temper) and my dreams malfunctioned until I started loving the purple too.

**07.**

You told me in secret that thought that no one would ever love you. Instead of telling you that I already did, I always would, I asked you what you meant.

"I'm too fat. I'm too flawed. I'm too ugly."

And I didn't know what to say, because those were such blatant lies:

I was, in fact, worried about how thin you had gotten. I thought that if you ever let me touch you, I'd be able to count the ribs up your pale sides, I'd be able to run my fingers over the jutting bones.

Your flaws made you loveable, to me.

And you were never ugly, never could be ugly. You were forever comparing yourself to Vic, which was wrong because she's all surface and you – you're deeply, amazingly gorgeous. Your double pierced ears and colored hair, your refusal to wear make-up and the swallow tattoo on your skinny shoulder-blade – you are astonishing.

But I didn't say any of that. I told you you were being stupid, that every guy I knew wanted you, and that you'd sure as hell fall in love.

**06.**

I hope you didn't change because of what I'd said, about all the guys wanting you. You pulled more and more away from me with every guy you fucked. Or maybe I pulled away from you. That might be it. I was angry – hurt – pissed – that you'd hook up with anyone (but me.)

The time I came to the Gryffindor Party and saw you snogging Roger Wood – that could have been the last time I spoke to you. It would have been, if I hadn't seen how Vic reacted. Was it always about someone else, Dom?

**05.**

There's a moment. One. Where I think you might love me. You're drunk and we (us Slytherins) had just won against Ravenclaw (and you'd better believe I rubbed Vic's nose in it) and you're in the Slytherin common room. For once you're not hanging over anyone and I think, I wonder, if your blue eyes are hiding a secret like mine. And then Flint grabs you and you smile that bright, false smile at him and I don't see you again that night.

That's the moment. Where I decide I need to man up and get over you.

**04.**

Maybe I was an arsehole. Yeah, okay, I was. I pulled away from you without an explanation and I judged-judged-_judged_ you. But I only called you a slut in my head, Dom, never out loud. So when I heard that bastard Flint call you a whore I punched him. Hard. The things you learn hanging out with your family are invaluable. George told me purebloods never expect physical attacks, and they really don't.

When you saw me coming down the hall with blood on my robes, you thought I'd been hurt, and I talked to you for the first time in weeks. I told you I punched Flint because he had insulted my father.

I didn't think you'd like the idea of me defending you.

**03.**

Even though I acted like a bastard for the better parts of fifth and sixth years, I was still the one you came to when all that shit happened with Louis. I don't know whether I was happy or disappointed that you still chose me. What did it say about your friends, your family, that the boy who had deserted you after you started sleeping around was still the only one you trusted enough to talk to?

And what did it say about me, that after all that time, after I'd nearly had myself convinced that I was over you, that I was still desperate to make you happy?

**02.**

It took me. All along, I believed that if you loved me, you'd have told me. It couldn't be up to me. But I finally gave up. I couldn't not be friends with you, and I couldn't be friends with you. Who knew that my surrender would bring us together?

I gave up all the pretenses, all my lies, and I told you. I told you the way a Gryffindor would, but I told you for a Slytherin's reasons. In the middle of the Great Hall, I said, "Please stop looking. You've already got me, you've always had me. And I love you."

**01.**

You're the one who told me not to be afraid. I'm the one who showed you how to (_really_) be brave.

**A/N:** Review? I like to know what you think!


	3. ten times abby longbottom thought

**A/N:** I'm not sure how I feel about this one. For some reason, Louis is the least clear of all the Weasleys, so I'm not exactly sure if I like how I characterized him. But ohhhh well.

**Disclaimer:** not mine (harry potter or 3oh!3)

the third story :: ten times abby longbottom thought about louis weasley

_face it, it doesn't mean shit unless you take a risk_

**Ten.**

I hated you.  
Hate – hate – _hated_ you. There's really no other way to describe it.  
I thought you were elitest, cocky, French in an arsehole way.  
And I knew what you thought of me, too. You thought I was an idiot, a buffoon, a girl constantly on the verge of clumsy disaster.  
When I refused to learn how to fly, becauseI _am_ clumsy, Weasley, and I know my limits, you laughed. "Good, Longbottom, the broom probably wouldn't be able to hold you up anyway."  
And when I ignored you (because that's how I deal with bastards), you decided that you hated me for being strong.

**Nine.**

By second year I may have decided that you needed to be taken down a few (thousand) notches. So Livy and I decided to do some damage. And all right, yeah, it wasn't necessary, but my parents always told me to stick up for myself.

But it was probably wrong to stick up for myself by turning all of Gryffindor against you. (Well, except the girls, but you did that all on your own.) I admit that I was wrong, but you didn't need to flee to Slytherin and mix with their idiots. By second year they were too old, too far removed from the rest of us. They were just awful, and I think that you should never have gone looking for friends among them. Merlin, even the rest of Slytherin House was afraid of them.

You should have fought back. I never thought you'd be so strangely weak. If I had known that your cockiness wasn't real I never would have turned Gryffindor against you.

With your beautiful smile and your soft, kissable lips, your hazy blue eyes and that red hair, I thought you'd be confident enough to hold onto the House.

I was wrong.

**Eight.**

Your sisters tried to tell you that you were being an idiot, but you refused to listen to them – you're always just so very goddamn stubborn. So you kept hanging with the bastards of Slytherin, and I backed the hell off, but you were already gone.

**Seven.**

You were the smartest of them all; I remember my dad used to tell me how good you were at Herbology, like, I don't know, some type of bloody genius, and I've seen you show off in Potions for what feels like decades. So you were obviously smarter – and they needed you, right? They dealt with the criminal stuff, and you filled their intelligence quota – you brewed the potions and organized the transfers and negotiated the costs. You were the mastermind.

You told me, when I caught you the first time, that the potions weren't harmful, couldn't be dangerous. You were right, at first. But love potion and polyjuice and whatever else you were brewing, it could be made dangerous. They made it dangerous.

I just let you continue peddling, because it kept you away from us. Until one of your Slythering friends slipped some love potion in Liv's pumpkin juice. That was beyond petty – that was criminal.

**Six.**

And you knew it was – as soon as you found out what he had done, you went to McGonagall and turned yourself in. You earned a bit of a rep around school as the snitch, but at least all the people you snitched about got expelled.

And I'm sorry that I didn't realize – at first – how hard it must have been for you to turn in all of your friends (your only friends). I still treated you like absolute shit – until that night.

**Five.**

It must have been embarrassing for you. But I was assigned to patrol North Tower, and I always did what I was told. I had no idea that you went to North Tower when you were overwhelmed – although now I do.

And I was probably the last person you wanted to see. Like that, with your fingers snarled in glorious red hair and tears marking your pale cheeks. I'll always admire you for not running away. For facing me and asking, in that oh-so-tired voice, "What do you want now, Longbottom?"

And I think I surprised myself even more than I surprised you when I said, "Call me Abby."

**Four.**

The next time I went up to North Tower, it was because I wanted to talk to you. I wanted to apologize, I did, but I was carrying a book that you told me was absolute rubbish and so we got into an argument over that instead. But I think that because you won the argument, it was sort of like an apology.

**Three.**

And then I told everyone that I had been wrong about you, that you weren't actually a bad guy. I was afraid that they wouldn't believe me (especially after the whole Livy awfulness and the fact that Dom was sleeping with Slytherins and that everyone was somewhat terrified of Vic) but I grabbed your hand and pulled you with me into Gryffindor (where you had always belonged) and everyone realized that I had been wrong when I told them to shun you.

**Two.**

I was half afraid that after I undid the damage that I'd done, that you'd leave me. But instead you asked me, "Why're you trying so hard now?"  
And I told you that I didn't like to make mistakes, and when I made them that I liked to fix them.  
You said that your life wasn't some mistake for me to undo.  
And I said of course it wasn't, but hating you had been.

**One.**

It took us a while, but you finally kissed me, out by the lake, because North Tower would've been too cliché. And there was no love potion involved, but there was emotion.

**A/N:** Thanks for reading!

Review?


	4. ten differences caroline jordan saw

**Disclaimer: **John Mayer & Harry Potter aren't mine.

The fourth story :: ten differences caroline jordan saw in fred  
_I want you so bad I'll go back on the things I believe_

_**ten**_

I was shocked when we got to school and you stopped talking to me. I was used to your strange occasional silences; during our parents' monthly get-togethers you'd sometimes wander off and not say a word to me, but you'd always acknowledge I was there by offering me some Bertie Bott's or a Chocolate Frog. On the Hogwarts Express, though, you didn't even look at me when I sat next to you, and you didn't talk to me the whole ride, and then you pretended not to care about the sorting when all the rest of us First Years were ready to just die – combust – with anxiety. But you _were_ nervous, I could always tell. You got so still you seemed to stop breathing, and then when the Hat settled on your head you squeezed your eyes shut and looked like you were begging, and I saw Louis and Dom exchange anxious looks down Gryffindor Table and I suddenly got horribly worried too, because we had always said we'd be in Gryffindor together. Then finally, finally, the Hat called out "Gryffindor" and you smiled all at once and the entire Hall took a breath because you, Fred Weasley, were glorious when you smiled, even at eleven.

And then you came over and sat next to Melanie and completely ignored me and I realized that somewhere between the last day of summer and the first day of school you had discarded me. You wouldn't talk to Dom or Louis either, but we had often ignored them and this was _me_. I had thought we were best friends, and I don't know why you decided that at Hogwarts I wasn't good enough to be your friend. At home, we were the ones who'd laugh, not the ones who made the laughter. But then you got here and it's as if you had to become funny, had to fulfill some expectation.

But did you forget that my dad is funny too? You didn't think, I guess, that when you pushed me away we would both become what everyone always expected us to be.

_**nine**_

Of course, you got over being stupid after a few months, when you saw that you and I could change who we had been pre-Hogwarts and still be friends. Or maybe (and I'm sad that this is more likely) you didn't want me competing against you for laughs – you saw that we were funnier together. And soon everyone (except me) forgot that there was ever a time when we weren't the inseparable pair – they all saw us as perfect little replicas of our parents.

You wanted that. You wanted to be different than who you had been. I didn't.

_**eight**_

Sometimes you went too far in your pranks – farther than I thought wise. Like that time you wrote letters from a "secret admirer" to that Slytherin girl. You weren't dealing with magic, you were dealing with emotions, and I _told_ you you'd regret it, but you were all, "She's a Slytherin, Line." Which was exactly my point.

_**seven**_

So I wasn't particularly shocked when the night before we were all supposed to leave for winter hols fourth year I got a note written in a slanted green scrawl, telling me you needed rescuing. And _obviously_, Fred, obviously it was a trap. But I wasn't expecting to find you tied up in the deepest dungeon with _six_ angry Slytherin girls surrounding you. I mean, fuck, that seemed a tad extreme.

"What's going on?" I stood in the entrance to the dungeon and they all turned to face me – girls with dark eyeliner and ruler-straight hair and blood-red smiles, surrounding you, your strong keeper-arms bound and your ruffled red hair bright against the damp stone wall. Your blue eyes were shut and I was worried, for an instant, that they'd really hurt you.

"Oh, look, Freddie, it's your little Line! Aren't you happy to see her?" Lola squealed and you groaned in response, and I narrowed my eyes, trying to find any bruises on your dark skin. But you looked fine, aside from the whole tied-up-deal.

"Is this really necessary?" I stepped back slightly. If it had just been Lola, I would've cursed her…but, hell, it wasn't. And I couldn't take on six of them. I knew that.

"Well, maybe not. But it's fun!" Lola smiled. The others were silent, flicking their wands easily in their hands.

"What're you planning on doing?"

"Well, see, I was just going to scare him a little. But then I figured you were probably involved too, right?"

I shook my head, but you interrupted, your voice hoarse, "I told you she didn't. She told me not to do it."

But that was the wrong thing to say. "You knew, though." Lola waved her wand at me before I could even think to get mine up.

You were a bloody idiot.

_**six**_

We didn't talk about that night for a long time. We didn't talk about how they dosed us with Veritaserum (which they must have saved since Louis' gang was still running around) and how they asked us awful-horrible-questions and how we had to answer honestly.

So we didn't talk about how you wish that you hadn't been named after your dead uncle.  
We didn't talk about how I wished I hadn't changed when I came to school.  
We didn't talk about how you'd wanted to do something _different_, and that's why you started messing around at school.  
You didn't asked me why I'd said I was still pissed that you had deserted me the first few months at Hogwarts, and I didn't ask you why you'd told Lola that you thought marriage was for fools, and somehow used that to avoid the question: "What're you most angry about?"

_**five **_

In fact, it was like someone had obliterated our memories, or something, the way we went back to everything being normal after that. Or normal-ish.

I was too afraid of losing you to consider telling you whole truths, and I guess it was probably the same for you. But then that summer I was at a Weasley gathering and Dom asked us why we were being so (oddly) quiet and you asked her if she had ever tasted Veritaserum.

She looked at us like we were crazy and said, "It's illegal."

"Slytherins have their sources," I replied.

Her eyes shot to Louis and then back to us. "You guys were given Veritaserum?" She looked unconvinced.

You nodded, and she shrugged, "So?"

"We realized we've never been really honest with each other," you said. I wasn't sure why you were talking to Dom about this, when we had kept our peaceful silence for nearly seven months.

"What, did you finally admit you're in love?" Dom asked.

I laughed, "No. I wish it had been that simple."

You stared at me, "You think love's simple? That would have been worse."

And Dom took my hand before I could curse you and led me inside and let me rant on about how bloody thick you were.

_**four**_

We didn't talk after that for a while. We went back to school and you were still the center of attention but I slipped off into the background. I spent a lot of time in the library – your Aunt Hermione would have been proud. My parents weren't, so much. They kept sending owls, wanting to know why Professor McGonagall hadn't written to them about my behavior all term, wanting to know if I was all right. I told them I was fine and then I tossed all their letters into the Gryffindor fireplace.

Lola came and found me in the library one Saturday morning and sat down at my table, moving aside a stack of Transfiguration texts and looking almost as if she pitied me. "His jokes were a lot funnier when you were involved."

I shrugged. She could take her unexpected peace offering and chuck it off of North Tower, for all I cared.

"For what it's worth, I think that he could have said worse things, that night."

"It's not worth much."

You were standing at the entrance to the library when I walked out, and you glanced from me to Lola in shock. "What were you talking about with _her_?"

But I kept walking. Right by you.

_**three**_

You came to find me that night and said: "No jokes, no lies, no potions. Tell me why you're mad at me."

I stared at you. I was sitting in the back corner of the library and you were standing next to bookshelves bending under the weight of Divination books and your hair looked as if you had run your fingers through and your lips were set in a serious line and you were slouching and all I wanted to do was touch your hair, your lips, wrap my arms around you and let you hold me.

Instead I repeated, "No jokes, no lies, no potion?"

"I'll answer a question for you, too."

"I'm mad because you act like you can dispose of me whenever, like you don't need me."

"You are farthest thing from disposable. And I _do_ need you." You smiled, slowly, "Everyone says I'm not half as funny without you."

"Not just for your stupid pranks, though. I mean, _really_ need me." I wouldn't look at you. I couldn't.

You were silent for a moment, "I do really need you. I'm not half as happy without you."

And then I did look at you, "Why'd you get pissed at me?"

"Because you wouldn't understand what I wanted to tell you, but couldn't say straight out."

"I still don't understand."

You sighed, "When I told Lola that marriage was bad, I meant that I was pissed that I expected my future to be identical to everyone else's, but that I don't want it to be. I want to be different." You shut your eyes, "I didn't mean a thing about you."

"You did though. You did, because I'm the one person really holding you back from being different."

You shook your head, "That's what I thought. But being with you is more important than being different."

And then you took my hand in your warm, calloused one and I believed you.

_**two**_

But I wanted happiness more than anything. So I agreed to Morocco and I agreed to not getting married and I agreed to finally, really breaking out of our pre-assigned shells.

_**one**_

We may have been in love, but we didn't want to be cliché and admit it.

**A/N:** Hope you enjoyed, thanks for reading, and please review!


	5. devon goldstein listens ten times

**Disclaimer:  
This counts for the next seven chapters: I don't own Harry Potter or the lyrics that I include in this story.**

**A/N:** So. Addicting. (Also, I'm starting work next week and I've got an internship with an (independent) publishing house (!) this summer, so my writing time will be decreasing muchly, for all those sick of getting updates).

the fifth story :: devon goldstein listens to roxie ten times  
_you've got to stand for something or you'll fall for anything_

10

You were always laughing. That's the first thing I noticed about you when I accidentally fell into the Weasley compartment on the Hogwarts Express. Your head was thrown back and your hair fell in curls down your back and your teeth were white against your dark lips and your beautiful laugh hit me somewhere in my chest and I decided, in my awkward, eleven year old way, that I was going to be friends with that laughing girl.

And even though I was sorted (predictably) into Ravenclaw and you were (obviously) a Gryffindor, I made our friendship happen.

09

I didn't want to see anything other than laughter on your face, ever, so when shit happened at school, I tried to keep you cheerful. And it was stupid of me, because hell, emotions – they're important, all of them. So I don't blame you for getting pissed at me that day and shouting at me, "Damn, Devon, I'm allowed to be sad, all right?" And when you turned on your heel and left me standing dumbstruck in between the library stacks, yeah I deserved that. But I didn't deserve the tears on your cheeks or the scowl on your lips.

08

I got one of your friends to bring me up to the Gryffindor girl's dormitory (you guys like red a little too much) and I got them all to leave us alone and I sat on your bed and pressed one shaky hand to your soft robed back and said, "Merlin, Roxie, I'm sorry."

And you laughed into your pillow and it wasn't the laugh I first noticed but a self-critical one, like you had taken all that beauty and flipped it. "Why're you always trying to make everything perfect, Dev?" As if perfection was somehow perverted.

I couldn't answer at first, and I could feel you getting more and more angry because I was supposed to tell you what you wanted to hear right away, but when you phrased it the way you had I just couldn't answer the way I wanted to. I wanted to tell you that it was better to be happy than sad, that if I could force happiness it'd be better than feeling sorrow. I wanted to tell you that I had spent a lot of my childhood feeling sad and that it was only after I learned that happiness could be feigned that I realized I could conquer my emotions. I wanted to tell you that your laughter drew me out of a cage that my father's and my mother's and my own expectations had built for me at an early age, and that when you hid your laughter from me that cage surrounded, asphyxiated, _crushed_ me.

But I couldn't tell you those things, because even to my young mind they sounded slightly scary, like I had turned you into a goddess and like I never felt anything real and as if I was somehow inhuman. So instead I sighed and said, "Because I've always thought perfection was a goal. But it's not, because it's impossible." And I inhaled, because this last admission would change who I was – how I was, "I'll stop trying so hard."

And I think you forgave me then.

07

I stopped trying so hard to make you laugh, and maybe you were right and maybe life is better when you let yourself feel everything, rather than trying to compose your emotions the way you'd like them to be. Or, I thought that might be true for a while, until we got old. And by old I mean old _enough_. Because then every guy in our year was after you, Roxie, and you laughed that laugh – the one I first heard on the Hogwarts Express – and enjoyed their attention and asked for their attention and even _craved_ their attention. And I was outside of all of this, because…well, to be perfectly honest I had always been outside of it. I was your one Ravenclaw friend, and even though you were my closest friend, I was in no way yours. And I understood but Merlin, it _hurt_ when you laughed that laugh for everyone else, even when you were hurting.

Why were they allowed to make you laugh when you felt like hell?

06

I wanted to touch you, Roxie. I wanted to hold you and talk to you and tell you secrets that I'd never told anyone before. I wanted to, but I was also terrified of how close that would make us. Even when I dreamt of it there was some sort of barrier between us, some sort of horrible solid wall that I put up. Even in my mother-fucking-_dreams_ I couldn't be with you.

05

I found you after the whole thing with Travers blew up. You were sobbing into one of the pillows in Flitwick's classroom – just crying out broken pieces of Roxie – and I wanted to make it better, but I couldn't think how. Because even after all those years, my first response was to make you laugh. But I couldn't, so instead I took your sweaty, tear-stained hand and held on tight while you gave in to your sorrow.

And I slowly pulled you to me and even though I never thought I'd hold you, and even though when I did it was only because some bastard had broken your precious heart, I was happy because in reality there was no barrier between us. It was just me and you, and all that _feeling_.

04

You told me "Thank you" the next day, like what I had done wasn't something that any self-respecting friend would do. I shrugged it off but you grabbed my hands and made me look in your blue eyes and you repeated, "Thank you, Devon. Please, let me thank you, because you have no idea how much it meant to me that you were there." And you took a breath to steady yourself, "How much it means to me that you're always there."

So I said, "You're welcome," because I think that's what you wanted me to say. And maybe I could have added something along the lines of, "I'm there because I want to be there" or, more bravely (more terrifyingly), "I'm there because I love you." But Travers had just broken up with you, and I've never claimed to be brave, so I didn't.

But I think maybe you were starting to understand.

03

It's odd that the times that we meant the most to each other at Hogwarts were when you were upset over something. At the end of fifth year you came to the Ravenclaw Common Room and yelled to be let inside and someone finally took pity on you and went to find me. When you saw me you stamped one foot on the ground angrily and glared and demanded, "Make me laugh, Dev."

I stared at you in shock. "What?"

"I need to know if I can still laugh. You always made me laugh even when I didn't want to, so if anyone can do it it's you." You glared at me and I could see that tears were sparking at your blue eyes, "I need to know." You were begging, and you never begged.

I never thought that anything like this would ever, ever happen. At first you _were_ laughter, and I couldn't imagine you without it, and then later you diminished your laughter, wasted it so that it didn't even mean all that much anymore. And there you were, asking me to bring it back.

I shook my head and muttered, "You're absolutely insane."

"That won't work," you pouted. "Come on, Dev, you used to be so good at it."

And because I couldn't think of anything hilariously funny to say to you, I grinned and said, "Hey, want to play tag?" And when you looked at me like I was the insane one I leapt on you and started tickling you in the places where you're most ticklish – right on the backs of your arms and your stomach – and your laughter echoed down the corridor and suddenly I didn't care that I was acting like an undignified three year old and that I was basically assaulting you because that laugh was all that mattered.

And when it turned into tears I held you because that was what I was there for.

02

It took you a while to realize that maybe I was worth more than just laughs and handkerchiefs. You cornered me on the Hogwarts Express at the end of sixth year and you looked at me with your fierce blue eyes and I reached out and took your hands and said, "Will you laugh if I ask you on a date?"

And you smiled and shook your head and said, "I'd love to go out with you."

01

You did laugh – a lot – when I asked you to marry me. But then, it was kind of a spur of the moment thing and I was soaked in butterbeer when I did it, so I guess I can understand. And anyway, that was all I ever wanted – to hear you laugh "Yes."

**A/N:** Reviews are much loved!


	6. lysander scamander catches ten tears

story six :: lysander catches ten tears  
_her eyes, that's where I go when I go home_

10.

When you came to school, I thought you were broken. You were pretty – oh, so pretty – but your smile was fake and your eyes were glass-blue shields.

I sat in one of the boats beside you, and you stared down at the lake water as if it were going to reach up with liquid arms and pull you deep into its heart – as if you were waiting for your death in its murky waves – an expected, terrifying tragedy.

I've got to admit, I expected Slytherin or Ravenclaw for you, not Gryffindor.

But then, I didn't know you were a Weasley.

09.

You were smart, though. I mean, I knew your youngest cousins, but I didn't expect you to be brilliant. But you showed us all up, even me. And you began to get a bit of a reputation around Ravenclaw as the one who got away; we all wanted to know what the Hat had seen in you that we couldn't.

But then I walked into a (supposedly) empty Charms classroom one afternoon fourth year and you were there and you were staring down that Slytherin seventh year. Your wand was directed at his crotch and you were crying – tears running down your face even as your voice radiated anger. "If I ever see you do that again, Vaisey, I will break every one of your fingers and make sure that you'll never touch anyone again, let alone my sister."

And instead of laughing it off, the way I had expected him to, he cowered before you – tiny _you_, Molly, with your red hair in two braids and freckled cheeks tear streaked and your nose leaking (endearing) snot. "All right, all right, Weasley. Don't lose it. I won't touch her again."

"Just her? You won't touch anyone who doesn't _want_ to be touched ever again, Vaisey. I've been learning some new curses since the last time we met."

And I was a little bit terrified of you then too.

I left before Vaisey could realize I had witnessed his humiliation. But I never again questioned your bravery.

08.

I wonder how many Hogwarts students shrunk before your wand – none of us would admit to it. We were ashamed that you could push us around the way you did. But I know that the first time you turned on me, I just about wanted to die.

I had said something (rather idiotic) about your cousin Louis, about what he would be doing now that he was out of Hogwarts, whether he was dealing in the black market, selling crumple horned snorkaxes or Doxies. You heard me (you weren't supposed to, though) and you stood before me, crying because you cry when you're angry and I realized that bad-mouthing your family – even Louis – was probably not the best way to go about things just as you hit me with a stinging hex across the face.

I was lucky that I survived that day.

07.

I wondered if protecting your family was something that sprung through the bloodlines of you Weasley lot, because Lucy came and grabbed me one night sixth year and told me to get my bloody arse out of the fucking library and to bloody hurry over to the Charms corridor because she couldn't do anything.

"What the bloody fuck are you on about?"

And she just glared at me, "Merlin, Scamander, do I have to spell it out for you? Molly's being an idiot and you're the only one who can stop her."

And because by then I knew that you being in trouble could mean anything from you facing down seven Slytherins to you crying out your anger in a corner, I hurried after your little sister without another question. But I hadn't expected to find you snogging that arsehole Mathew Smith.

Okay, maybe I shouldn't have hauled off and punched him, but really, what did he expect, molesting you in the middle of a hallway? Even if you cursed me that night and stayed pissed at me for a while after, it was worth it to see the smarmy look wiped off that bastard's face.

And Lucy told me I did the right thing (not that I was doubting myself, or anything).

06.

You were in the owlery a few weeks after the Smith incident, just standing there staring out at the Forest and silent tears were weaving familiar paths down your cheeks. I wasn't sure whether or not you were speaking to me yet, but I couldn't bear to see you like that without saying anything, so I asked, "Is there anything I can do?"

You wiped your free hand, the one not holding your wand, under your eyes and turned to smile distractedly at me and I breathed in relief because that wasn't the face you had when you were angry, and those weren't your typical pissed tears. "Only if you can find a way to stop time."

I looked at you for a moment or two in silence and when you didn't seem prepared to offer me any more information I caved, "What do you mean?"

"It's almost our seventh year." You bit your precious lip, "We're _old_, Scamander."

I laughed, "We're hardly old."

"We're ancient. We'll be moldy like McGonagall before you know it, and then we'll be ghosts like Binns."

"You only become a ghost if you're afraid of what comes next," I pointed out, reaching for Nargle, my tawny owl.

You stared at me as if I were missing something painfully obvious. When I didn't say anything, you said, "Fine, then. _I'll_ be a ghost before we know it, and you'll be dead."

The finality to your words terrified me.

05.

Seventh year didn't start out the way I expected it to. I thought we'd all get back to Hogwarts and things would be perfect and nearly normal, the way they had been at the end of sixth year. But I was made Head Boy (because some type of brain-altering creature clearly snuck into McGonagall's break over the holiday) and you were named Head Girl and for some reason that caused problems between us.

Maybe because I refused to take it seriously. But honestly, Molly, what purpose did it serve? I know, I know, it's good for the younger students to have us to look up to, we're supposedly responsible and all that shite. But really? I was tired of responsibility and I think you were too.

So I made it my mission to get you to loosen up a bit. And it turns out that Firewhiskey was my best friend in that mission.

While I adore sober-Molly, the wasted-you is pretty adorable too.

"I hate … no, no, Lys - Lysander, that's not right." You were pressed against me in the Ravenclaw common room, stumbling over your words and continually getting strands of red hair stuck between your alcohol-flavored lips. "I hate some of the…the…insuff – insufferable things you do. Like how you're looking at me. I hate that."

"But you don't hate me?" I asked, reaching over to push some hair out of your face.

"No, never - never could hate you." You wrapped your warm arms around my neck and breathed into my cheek and closed your eyes and I couldn't bear to move you.

If you had decided to stay there forever, that would have been fine with me.

04.

You sure acted like you hated me for a while after that night, though. I had no idea the hangover would hit you that hard, and I'm sorry that none of my mates had any hangover potion on hand and that we had to go snag some off of James. But really, consider yourself lucky. You got your first drink, your first drunken night, and your first hangover out of the way all at once.

That's got to count for something.

Of course, when I pointed that out to you, you prolonged your anger by what felt like months, but was really only a few days.

Still, a few days without you by my side made me miserable.

03.

You almost killed Lorcan when you caught him and Lucy. And it turns out that family loyalty isn't just a Weasley trait. I was patrolling in the Transfiguration corridor when I heard your angry voice and I hurried into the classroom to try and stop you from committing murder and when I saw that Lorcan was at the other end of that wand, that you were about to curse him with something awful, that Lucy was shouting at you to stop being such "a meddling, evil, inconsiderate bitch," well, I may have seen red.

I grabbed a hold of your raised arm and hissed, "Leave my brother the fuck alone, Weasley" into your hair and then sent you stumbling from the room, ignoring the tears on your face and the pain in my chest.

I've never been angrier at anyone than I was at you then. You and your rampages, Molly. You and your need to control everything.

You and your bloody control over _me._

02.

You walked up to our table the next morning and did the Gryffindor thing. You apologized to Lorcan first, "I may have overreacted." Like there was any question of that.

But because all my twin really wanted was Lucy and happiness, he accepted your mediocre apology.

And then you turned those blue eyes to me and I saw fear in them. No anger, no sadness, just terrible, awful fear. And when you asked me if we could talk somewhere outside the Great Hall, I knew that this was something different, something new. Because you've never been afraid of getting into shouting-matches before the whole school before.

I followed you outside the castle and you turned to look at me, "You're my best friend." You said it like a confession, like it was something sinful.

"Yeah."

And then the fear slid from those eyes and you smiled slowly, "You're my best friend and I'm sorry for what I…almost…did to Lorcan. I should have trusted him."

"Yeah."

"Do you forgive me?"

I took your hand and nodded, "Of course."

Because I was nothing if not a sucker for (your) pretty blue eyes.

01.

On the (last) last night of school we sat alone out by the lake and you were quieter than usual and then those painful words from a year before were falling from your lips again, "Can't you find a way to stop time?"

I pulled your face close to mine and softly kissed you. It turned hot and hard and hungry after a moment, and years or days or hours or centuries later we pulled apart.

"That's the best I can do," I told you.

You smiled against my shoulder, "That's all I meant."

**A/N:** Reviews, please!


	7. lorcan scamander makes ten observations

**a/n: **This is the first pairing I've written in this story that is actually semi-popular, so I hope that no one disagrees with my characterizations of either Lucy or Lorcan.  
Either way, let me know through a **review**!

story seven :: lorcan makes nine observations (and one conclusion)  
_no ordinary wings I'll need, the sky itself will carry me back to you_

Ten –

It's funny, now, that the first time I saw you I really wasn't interested in you. And it wasn't just that I was a year older than you or that you were in Gryffindor – it sounds mean, but the first thing I noticed about you was how utterly _stereotypical_ you were. You had red hair like the rest of your clan, your eyes were exactly the same shape and color as your sister's (and if they had a little more warmth than hers, well, that's not a scientific analysis) and you weren't built any differently than the others.

So I'm sorry, but when the Hat sentenced you to Gryffindor I promptly forgot about your existence, because at first glance you were nowhere near fascinating.

I suppose it just proves what my mum always told us: "You need to allow the uninteresting the opportunity to mesmerize you."

As it turns out, you, Lucy Weasley, were not at all what I first expected. And you were undeniably fascinating.

Nine –

The first time I talked to you we were in a combined first and second year Care of Magical Creatures Class – something Hagrid came up with while feeling particularly sloshed, I think. Anyway, he was teaching us about auguryes and was saying how very unusual it was for a bird to _enjoy_ flying in the rain and for some reason you got all offended, saying it wasn't _all that_ unusual and then Hagrid started lecturing about all these magical birds that hated water and he looked like he might just go on forever.

So I tapped you on the shoulder and hissed, "He won't understand, Weasley, about all the non-magical birds that like water. Just let it go."

And you shot me a look that really told me all I needed to know about you, especially as it was accompanied by an angrily hissed: "Shut up, imbecile."

If you had taken my advice, we might've actually learned something useful about augureys. As it was, I only learned something interesting about you.

Eight –

Your affection for birds became vividly clear after that lesson. You wore fake-feather earrings that brushed against your cheeks every time you moved; your quills were always in absolute perfect condition – I once asked if I could borrow one and you snapped "No" without even glancing at me; your rings – one on each index finger, your left thumb and right ring finger – each had a different bird engraved in the silver; and your laugh soared from your mouth like swansong. (And that last one was fucking scientific, all right?)

Seven –

You stopped hanging around with your Gryffindor friends sometime in your third year, around the time Lysander told me he found your sister threatening to hex Vaisey's bollocks off for touching you. You sort of drifted around deserted corridors for a while after that (not that I was looking for you, or anything) and then suddenly you weren't anywhere anymore.

Nowhere at all, except classes and meals sometimes, when you'd come sit next to me at the Slytherin table and tell me stories about stupid things – like how the sky looks at sunrise and how at twilight the air tastes like treacle tart and how Hogwarts is fucking gorgeous, maybe the most beautiful place in the world. And for some reason, the sound of your voice and your stories and your smile bloody captivated me.

There's a scientific explanation, I'm sure of it.

Six –

The first time I saw it – species _Falco deiroleucus_ – an orange breasted falcon – I stopped and stared. It was out of place on the tree branch, out of place at Hogwarts, very much out of place in Scotland.

It was fascinating.

And then it keened sharply and dived right past me, snatching up a squirming mouse from the swell of grass and disappearing in the Forest.

I watched for that bird every time I went outside. It didn't belong, and yet it had settled securely in my mind.

Five –

My father told me I was the scientist. The observant one. Cool, calculating, full supporter of the ends justifying the means. Lysander was all passion and anger and desire, and I just watched. And for a long time I believed – fervently – that that's all I'd ever do. And for a long time, I was fine with that.

But I can feel passion and desire and thrilling joy. I really can.

And sure, it all started with noticing things. Like how observing the falcon and observing you were easy activities to keep up with, since you and it were never around at the same time.

And how you had gotten a tattoo on your neck, where your hair just-barely covered it, of a black bird with a glimmering orange chest whose wings flapped anxiously whenever I stared at it too long.

And how your sister kept glancing at you as if she was afraid for you – I asked Lysander about it and he said she was worried because you had barely been around lately.

And then I started wondering if you actually liked the taste of mice or if you had just caught that one near me so I'd freak when I figured it out. (Because you had to have known that I'd figure it out.)

Four –

"Hey, Weasley!"

You turned from the doors to the entranceway, "Hey, Scamander. What do you want?"  
I wanted to provoke you. For purely scientific reasons, not because I like the spark in your eyes or the flush of your skin or the strain in your voice when I do.

"Want to take a walk out by the lake? Or, should I say, want to fly out by it?"

You smiled at me before turning on your heel, shooting over your shoulder, "Maybe you _are_ the crazy twin."

Even though that reaction was more curious, had more scientific significance, I missed the spark and the flush and the tone that I had expected. (Maybe it had very little to do with science.)

Three –

I sat out by the lake a few nights later and watched you swooping over the water, delighting in the way it splashed up into your beak.

"Lucy!" I called, and you wheeled toward me because even though we had (somehow) become friends, I never said your first name. You realized last minute what you were doing, and tried to veer away, but I held out a steady arm and you landed on it, your talons just barely puncturing my skin.

I ran one hand over your dark head and sighed, "My, my, Lucy, I never would have taken you for a lawbreaker."

You looked at me disdainfully – a familiar look only enhanced by your sharp beak and dangerous, deadly eyes.

Two –

"So, what? Are you going to tell Molly or Lysander? Let the ministry know? Make me register?" We sat in the corner of the Slytherin common room, and you were glaring at me.

I laughed, "None of those things. I'm curious about why, though. What was the point?"

You met my eyes, "I wanted a challenge. I wanted to be unique."

And maybe you knew what I thought when I first saw you, and maybe you didn't, but I had to say, I needed to tell you, "You're utterly fascinating. You're a falcon when you're just you, Lucy."

One –

So, maybe it wasn't scientific. It certainly wasn't cool, collected, distanced. But the feel of your lips on mine, your hands in mine, your body against mine – that was better than any bloody observations I'd ever made.

**a/n:** reviews are adored! And I'll bake (fake) cookies for the review_ers_!


	8. mad zabini insults james ten times

**Story Eight : Mada Zabini insults James Potter Ten Times  
**_and baby when it's love, if it's not rough it isn't fun_

**ten. **_honey, you were the worst thing for me._

You were a bloody bigot. When I first saw you – your chin held high, your back straight, your arms clenched like you were some sort of pre-pubescent sex-god – I saw you for what you were right then.  
What you were, James Potter, was the worst type of bigot, the type who saw himself (namely: a Potter, a Weasley, a _Gryffindor_) as the best possible form of existence.

Everyone else? Well, everyone else could just go fuck themselves, couldn't they?

Unfortunately, I also saw that you had dark hair with a few strands of fire mixed in and that your eyes had flecks of green in the irises and that your (bloody snide) lips were soft and delicious-looking.

Unfortunately, I've got a bit of a weakness for pretty boys.

**nine.** _destruction had always been my specialty._

By the end of first year, you were the absolute bane of my brilliant existence. Which, I'd like to remind you, is saying quite a lot – my dad is a serial dater, my mum a serial killer (just kidding, we Slytherins like our little jokes) and my littlest sister is probably a squib. So, I've got plenty of banes to choose from. But you're really _it_ – the epitome.

It was rather fortuitous that you and I both made our house Quidditch teams, and that we were both Chasers – otherwise, I may have had to find other, more dangerous ways to destroy you. I do know a few (talk about a million) disastrous curses. But I found that snatching the quaffle from your oh-so-very-_brave_ hands was just as gratifying as any one of those curses could have been. And the look on your face when we ground your perfect little team into the pitch? Well, let's just say that I was able to eradicate nightmares for weeks by picturing the way your hazel eyes widened, the way your lips curved downward, the small lines that appeared between your eyebrows.

When you're devastated, your face is almost as gorgeously haunting as it is when you're thrilled.  
And I'm built to withstand devastation – it's thrill I can't contemplate.

**eight. **_we weren't meant to survive the war._

Oh, and you should have seen your face when the Sorting Hat opened its brim from where it sat on your little sister's head. You should have seen the way expectation gave way to horror, the way your eyes shot directly to mine as I cheered along with the rest of my house, welcoming the last Potter to our table.

She wasn't upset about it at all, I'll have you know. She sat down right next to Scorpius and started babbling something awful and Scor got me involved because, well, I am a girl, and for some reason he thought I'd have better luck calming her down. She didn't shut up until the sorting was over, and then she glanced over and waved at you and Albus. Al waved back. You didn't.

She wasn't quite as good at hiding her emotions then, so Scor and I noticed how her face fell – just a little – before she smirked and gave you the two fingered salute, and then returned to talking to Scorpius as if she had never even looked at the Gryffindor table.

You can talk a lot of shit about me, James, and most of it will be true. But I am not a coward, not when it comes to my house. And when you treated your sister like that…well, I'd never really _hated _you before. You were entertaining, and I think I entertained you, too. Everyone needs a nemesis. The way you treated Lily, though? That made us Slytherins _detest _you.  
We've got to stick together, you know? We're all we've got.

**seven. **_we're starting to wonder what there is, other than hate._

We had spoken to each other, of course – you can't become nemeses without exchanging insults. But we'd never had a conversation. And then you got into an argument with Lily just outside the entrance to the Slytherin common room, and I think, shockingly, that might have been the first real conversation we'd had.

"Look, Lil, I didn't mean that, back there." Your voice was soft, as if you thought you could ease the truth through Lily's crystalline exterior.

"You didn't? Because you sounded like you did. I mean, calling us a group of arsehole, cowardly snakes isn't even all that harsh, for you. I ought to be impressed with how you've changed your tune since my sorting." Your sister was a first year, and I'm certain that some of the Slytherins in the upper years were already terrified of what she'd become when she grew up a little more. Hell, she scared the shit out of a lot of older students from other houses already.

"Lily, it's just, it's something we say, all right? I'm sorry I offended you. I don't think _you're_ like that, at all, you know." Your voice was sincere, and that astonished me. Because I always expected insincerity from you.

"But you think my friends are." And then she hissed the password so you couldn't make it out and I heard her step through the portrait hole and you cursed as you tried to follow but couldn't.

I came around the corner then, "Tough luck, Potter."

"What do you want, Mad?" You usually started our interactions off with a string of insults and cuss words so elaborate that they'd have put Salazar himself to shame, and the defeated tone to your voice caught me entirely off guard.

I blinked once, then offered, "I can talk to her, if you want."

You stared at me suspiciously, "Oh? And what would you say? That she's right, and I'm not worth talking to?"

"No, I'd tell her that at least you're trying. That if it were reversed, say, if Scorpius or me or Parkinson had been sorted into Gryffindor, nobody in their families would try. They'd be disowned before they even made it to the Gryffindor Table. It's in their bloodlines." I shook my head, struck by how strange it was for me to be telling this to you. I felt disloyal, but I didn't stop. "You, on the other hand. You're still a bastard, and you didn't act right, at first, but at least you give a damn about your sister. That's something. Lily should be grateful for that."

You stared at me for a full, silent, awkward minute before turning and walking back up the corridor. Just before you turned a corner you turned back and your eyes met mine again and you said, your voice soft in the damp stone hallway, "Thanks, Mad. If you could talk to her, well, that'd be good."

**six. ** _i drew lines between the stars and asked you to fill them in_

You smiled at me when we passed each other on the platform at King's Cross before summer fourth year.

That was odd. Really, really weird, because we hadn't approached each other in months, not since we talked about Lily.

And it's not like it was a half-grin, either, the kind that means that you're looking at something crazy (the kind you often did direct at me).

This was a _real_ smile, a wide giving smile, and I wondered about it when Dad introduced me to his latest girlfriend (read: whore) and when he led me to the taxi and when we got home and I saw that he still hadn't brought En back from the Muggle orphanage he'd dropped her off at when she didn't get a Hogwarts letter (and he never will, will he?)

I guess I should thank you for offering me a delightfully curious distraction from the agony of the summer.

**five. **_isn't it surprising, when the synonym for hell is heaven?_

Lily sent me one owl over the summer, because she seemed to have adopted me and Scorpius as her older siblings within Slytherin, or maybe because she thought that we needed more friends (and all right, maybe we did). At the bottom of her letter you'd scribbled _"Any chance you can get to Diagon Alley on August 30?"_

And I did, because one part of me was dying of curiosity and the other thought it was a trick and at that point I would have welcomed any type of confrontation.

But you welcomed me with a smile (another one of _those_ smiles) and you handed me a cone of mint chocolate-chip ice cream, "That's your favorite, right?" And I nodded without calling you a stalker or anything, like I would have a year before, and I ate the ice cream without considering the possibility of poison, and when you introduced me to your dad in the Leaky at the end of the day I was perfectly civil to him.

I mean, he's Harry Potter, and I'm a Zabini. I ought to hate him.

But these days, I've got problems hating anything that ends in Potter.

**four.** _it's funny where the puzzle pieces choose not to fit together_

I thought maybe we'd start out the year as friends, or something. But fifth year started and we slid easily back into our houses and although we no longer fought when we passed each other in the halls, and I no longer lived to defeat Gryffindor at Quidditch (although it was always nice when I did), we never really talked to each other, either.

I missed you, James. I missed seeing your face and knowing that I could get a reaction out of you – even if the reaction was dislike, even if the facial expression was devastation.

But I mostly missed your smiles, and the sound of your voice, and the way you called me Mad, when everyone else called me Zab or forced my full name from their lips.

You knew that Mad was fitting, somehow.

**three.** _what everyone expected, it's what i least wanted to give them_

They all thought I was a whore – after all, my dad was, my mum was, my grandmum was the worst of both my mother and my father. They all wanted me to be as whoreish as the rest, they all wanted me to live up to the definition of _Zabini_.

I found, after fifth year, that I just wanted you.

It made sense, you see. Because early on we had disliked each other so intensely that we came to know each other. And then we tried not to hate each other and found that we could. And then we fell apart. Naturally, kind of the way sand falls away with the pull of the tide, before you even realize what's happening.

**two.** _maybe we both misread the meaning of the stars_

"You're beautiful," you told me, the night we met (accidentally) in a back dungeon.

"You're not."

"No, I'm a man, so I can't be."

"You're just a pretty boy."

"You think I'm pretty?"

"Potter, _of course_ I do."

"If I kiss you right now, will you promise me something?"

"If you kiss me right now, I'll tear your bollocks off."

"That's not nice, Mad."

"I'm not nice, Potty."

"You don't have to be."

"I don't?"

"No. You just have to be you."

All right, so I lied. (But those are valuable bollocks.)

**one.** _and when we've spun in a million dizzying circles, maybe then we'll see clearly_

I think I always knew. It's not such a big step to go from being the bane of my existence to being the focal point of my happiness.

You were eternally essential.

**a/n: **Reviews please?


	9. scorpius malfoy broke ten rules

**a/n: ** Um. This got very very long, very very quickly.  
Hope you like, regardless! (Review, please.)

Story Nine ::: Scorpius Malfoy Breaks Ten Rules  
(**and nine of them have to do with curly red hair**)  
_who gives a damn about the family you come from?_

**( x )**

I could start this with the day we all left for school, with what Father told me on the platform at King's Cross. I could, but that would be a lie, because this started long before that. This started in Flourish and Blott's, when we were younger, and stupider, and maybe just a tad bit cleverer, too, because we had found bliss in ignorance. Not the book-type of ignorance, since you and I would never settle for any type of ignorance that could be rectified through reading. No, the family-type of ignorance, the type where white-blond hair didn't mean _devil, son of a death eater_, the kind where red hair didn't mean _idiot weasel spawn_. We were young, and uninformed in the ways of the world, and so when you dropped that thick Charms book on the floor of Flourish and Blott's and I picked it up to hand it to you, we didn't immediately recognize each other as enemies.

"Thanks," you murmured, like raising your voice to its full volume among the rows and rows of colorful books might be some type of cardinal sin.

"You're welcome." Your hand was freckled, and that was funny, because I hadn't ever seen freckles anywhere except smattered across cheeks. "I'm Scorpius." My father had always taught me to introduce myself proudly, as if my name wasn't an oddity.

"I'm Rose," and you said the name like _it_ was the odd one, like you couldn't quite comprehend what-the-hell your parents were thinking when they gave it to you. But I thought I knew, because your hair was passion-red and it fell in curls down your back and looked like it would ghost softly against my skin like rose petals, if I touched it.

"Charms?" I asked you, nodding to the book, "Are you at Hogwarts already?"

And you smiled and I saw the flash in your blue eyes, the flash of excitement, intensity, _joy_ that I suspected I got whenever someone asked me about Transfiguration or Potions. "I wish. I'm only seven. But it's best to be prepared." And then you lost control of your voice and it rose a little higher and got a little louder and you grinned, "Besides, it's all just so bloody interesting, isn't it?"

I'd never heard a girl swear before, either, and I think all your very little differences made you the epitome of perfection. "I prefer Transfiguration," I told you, and you laughed softly, throwing your head back so your hair waved even further down your back and so I could see that the freckles trailed down your neck, too.

"Of course you do. Boys always think Charms're too wussy for them."

And then someone called your name from further back in the store and you shot a glare over your shoulder, huffing "Dad will never _learn_ that you don't shout in bookstores." You turned and grinned at me one last time, "See you 'round?"

"Yeah," I managed as you turned and hurried down the aisle so your father wouldn't disrupt the peace of the bookstore again, "Yeah, see you around."

But it was four more years until I saw you again, and that time we stood on the platform and I saw your dad lean down to say something to you just as mine knelt beside me. "Now, Scorp," his eyes were serious, and I was suddenly worried, nervous that everything was going to go to hell now, just before I got on the train. That he would confess some terrible secret, something worse than all that Voldemort business he had filled me in on over the summer. But he just glanced over at you and your family, and I realized that one of the men with you was Harry Potter, and I thought (irrationally) that it was rather unfair that you hadn't mentioned that back when I met you four years before. "Those are the Weasleys and the Potters. I guarantee they'll all be in Gryffindor." He sighed, as if he was about to make some great sacrifice, "I've already told you that I don't mind what house you're in, but I think it'd be much better if it weren't Gryffindor, for your sake. And, it'd be much better if you avoided them. We don't want red hair in our bloodline." The last was said as a joke, but I thought he was partially serious.

All I wanted to know was whether that red hair was as soft as I had thought it was, the last time I saw you.

So, no, it didn't all begin with our fathers' asinine comments on the platform. It could have _ended_ there, though.

It's a good thing we're both so bloody curious.

**( ix )**

"_The moment I felt myself settle on your head, Mr. Malfoy, I suspected that it would be Slytherin."_

"What's stopping you, then?"

"_You could be anywhere. Are you certain that you want Slytherin? I was thinking, it'd be interesting, and it'd certainly work, if you were in Gryffindor."_

"No, thank you just the same."

"_Ravenclaw? You have a brilliant mind."_

"Thank you, but I'd rather Slytherin."

"_Yes, yes, you are a Malfoy."_

[]

We ran into each other as we left the Hall that evening, pushing through the doors side by side, and we smiled sheepishly at each other.

"So, a Weasley?" I asked, and I managed not to mimic the derisive tone my father used whenever he said your name.

You shook your red hair out of your face and raised one fiery eyebrow at me, "A Malfoy?" And your tone of voice _was_ derisive, but I couldn't get mad at you for it, so I ignored it.

"You're not in Gryffindor, though." I shook my head, "My dad'll be disappointed."

"Ravenclaw's not so far off. At least I'm not in Slytherin. That'd be the absolute worst."

I laughed, "Hufflepuff'd be worse than either."

"You've got me there." And then someone shouted for all the first years to _please_ follow the prefects to their dormitories and you hurried off, throwing over your shoulder, "Let's not wait four years this time, yeah?"

And I waved after you, thinking how odd it was that both our meetings had ended in shouting, but that the shouting hadn't been our own.

Father probably would have had a heart attack from the shame of it all.

**( viii )**

You sat next to me in double Transfiguration first week and everyone shot you surprised _shocked_ looks as you smiled at me and said, "Are you still more interested in Transfiguration than Charms?"

I smiled back, thinking how strange it was that one conversation four years before had stuck so solidly in both our minds. "Of course. It's a bit Slytherin of you, Weasley, to sit beside me in a class that I'll clearly excel at."

You rolled your blue eyes and said, "I won't need to cheat off you, Malfoy. But if you're worried, I can always move."

"No, it's fine." In truth, it was more than fine. I was not a huge fan of anyone in our year in Slytherin. They were all bastards, if you wanted honesty. "Unless you don't want people to judge you for talking to a Slytherin, and a Malfoy, at that." I tried to make it sound like I was joking, but I had to add, "I'd understand."

"You shouldn't understand." You looked at me for a moment, "I didn't get the impression you were ashamed of who you were, back then."

"I didn't know who I was, back then," I muttered as McGonagall swept into the room and called us to order.

You stared at me in surprise, "You did though."

And I thought that it was easy for you to say. You, whose parents were war heroes and whose uncle was Harry bloody Potter. You couldn't possibly know the way shame could strangle you, the way it could suffuse your soul and leave you burning with the desire to escape, but with nowhere to go because all you really wanted was to escape the blood that boiled in your veins.

And there was no (sane) way to get rid of _that._

**( vii )**

You told me I was being ridiculous. I told you you were being insane. You told me I ought to reconsider my decision. I told you you ought to reconsider your invitation. You told me I ought to stop repeating our parents' mistakes.

I told you to go fuck yourself.

I spent Christmas alone in my room, writing apology after apology out on sheets of parchment and tossing them all in the fire before sending them.

You spent Christmas surrounded by Potters and Weasleys and laughing and eating and playing brisk games of Quidditch in the snow.

I asked my father if I could go to Flourish and Blott's on Boxing Day and he said, "Sure, Scorp," not looking up from his work as I Flooed over.

And of course you were there. I took the Charms book from your freckled hands and said, "I'm sorry I'm an idiot."

"Happy Christmas, you prat." And you let me buy the book for you and I figured I was probably forgiven.

**( vi )**

Your cousin Albus came up to me once third year and asked me if he could borrow my Potions book. I stared at him for a moment before nodding and handing it to him without thinking, because, well, he's a Potter and in Gryffindor and although you and I had crossed a few boundaries, I never expected the mini-Harry Potter to do any such thing.

But he just said, "Thanks, I'll get it back to you at dinner," and disappeared in the wave of students leaving the Great Hall.

And when he handed it back to me that night it wasn't destroyed like I'd half-expected it to be, it wasn't drawn on or marked up and the curse-revealing spells I cast on it didn't come bouncing back with any suspicious magic clinging to them and I wondered if he'd really just wanted to borrow my book for potions' sake.

But he had slipped a note in on page three-hundred seventeen, scribbled in green ink and signed with an _A_, "_You both keep your books in scarily perfect condition. I reckon you might not be all that wrong for each other, after all."_

And it was almost as if we had Harry Potter's approval, that way.

**( v )**

Your cousin Lily told me not to break your heart, and I laughed at her. But she was serious, I could see it in her green eyes and her fierce snarl and her very very angry looking fists. "I swear, Malfoy, you break her heart and I'll _decimate_ you in your sleep. It'll be the most painful way to go, undoubtedly."

"Lil, doll, why would I break Rose's heart? We're not even dating."

"Not yet, maybe, but you will be. And I'll get to you before Albus does, I promise you that. Al wouldn't have the stomach to do what would need to be done."

I rolled my eyes, "If Rose and I start dating, and _if_ I break her heart, I will go straight to Albus and ask him to destroy me before you could get to me."

"Destroy you, Malfoy? Gladly." Al had come up behind us at some point, and he dropped down beside Lily at the Slytherin table, not caring how odd it looked – him, the paragon of Gryffindor house, at _our_ table. "I'd like to know why I'm committing murder, though."

"It's a hypothetical situation," Lily explained.

"And bloody unlikely." I added.

"Oh, come _on_, Scorpius, you know it's only a matter of time," Lily turned to Albus, "Before he and Rose start hooking up, I mean."

Albus rolled his eyes, "Well, you'd better wait at least a year. Otherwise James'll win the bet and he'll be more insufferable than usual."

"Right." I shook my head. Potters were bloody insane, "I'll put it on my calendar. What day, exactly, would you like me to ask Rose out?"

"Like I said," Al stretched lazily, "A year from now will work nicely."

"That's cheating, Albus." Lily smacked him and turned to smile sweetly up at me, "If you could make it two, I'd win. And you know you like me best of all."

"_Insane_, the lot of you," I muttered, before standing and crossing the Hall to the Ravenclaw table, sitting beside you and informing you that I thought you ought to apply your considerable brainpower to curing your family of their craziness.

You laughed at me. "Oh, Score, I'd have to use it on yours first."

We're Malfoys, though. We're not _out_ of our minds – we're very much in them.

**( iv )**

I had hoped that if I started thinking of you _that_ way, it wouldn't happen until two years from that day, because Lily _was_ my favorite. But more than the time thing, I had hoped that it wouldn't happen at all, because we weren't meant to be. And you can go on all you want about us breaking boundaries and crossing lines and disintegrating blood feuds, but we weren't meant to break that many boundaries, cross that many lines, disintegrate feuds so very_ entirely._

And I wasn't interested in being the contaminant in the Potter-Weasley circle.

Of course, it started with your hair. You fell down beside me in the Hogwarts Express at the beginning of fifth year and I saw that your hair had just gotten so beautifully long over summer hols. And I was suddenly tempted, like I had been when I was seven, to touch that hair. But I didn't want to tug at the curl and watch it spring back toward your face – I wanted to thread my fingers through the strands, to let the softness envelop my hands, to cradle your head and bring your mouth to mine so I could drown in your kisses.

And that was just not acceptable, all right, Weasley?

And then it wasn't just your hair. It was your smile and your eyes and your bloody freckles and the way you'd raise your hand in class – like you were so certain you knew the answer it didn't matter if the professor called on you, everyone _had_ to know that you would have answered it better than whoever did.

That – the way you raise your hand, I mean – used to bother me so incredibly much. It was when I started watching for it, feeling that thrill when you lazily set your arm in the air, that I realized I was royally and truly fucked.

**( iii )**

"Score, I've got a question." We were lying out by the lake, and I was staring at the water, trying to distract myself from the way your hair was curling through the grass as if it had a mind of its own.

"Shoot," I dug a small pebble from the dirt and flicked it into the water.

"Do you think we'll ever go out?"

I wondered whether I was dreaming. The sun was too hot, though, for this to be a dream. And in my dreams I probably would have leaned over and kissed you, not thinking about the repercussions. Actually, in my dreams, we probably would have been kissing all along.

"Sure, we go out all the time."

"Don't play dumb, you prat." And I risked a glance at you. Your eyes were closed and your hair was _there_ and you were biting your lip the way you do when you're nervous and don't want anyone to notice. Which is silly, because I always know.

"We could."

"Do you want to?"

I reached for your hand, traced over the freckles that swam across it, "I want to." You seemed to think that was all that we needed, but I had to add, "But we can't."

"Not this again, Scorpius. Didn't we get beyond our families years ago?"

"No. Because you never needed to get beyond your family. Your family is perfect, and mine's not. My family is shameful, and I can't – I can't contaminate yours."

You sat up so fast I barely realized that you were in front of me when your palm connected with my cheek. "You're an idiot, Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy."

I stared at you and you glared fire back at me, "I am not."

"You _are_. Nobody gives a damn about what your father did. He's been cleared – my uncle vouched for him – and plenty of other people chose poorly during the war. But even if your dad were in Azkaban, even if he _had_ killed Dumbledore, it wouldn't have any bearing on who you are. And you're the one I want. Not your dad."

"Thank Merlin for that," I muttered, and you didn't smile, though you would have, if we hadn't been having that conversation.

"There's no shame in being you, Score."

And then I let myself run my hands through your hair – and it's funny because it wasn't quite as soft as rose petals.

But your lips? They were softer.

**( ii )**

I had imagined this scenario so many times since I realized who you were.

I didn't tell you what I was doing, because I thought you might tell me that I was an idiot, _again_, and demand to come with me. But this was something that I needed to do on my own, because you were always telling me that there wasn't any shame in being a Malfoy. And by sixth year, I was inclined to believe you.

But I still had to provide proof.

I arrived at your front door, and I hoped that there would only be one person there. But when I knocked and a man opened the door, he didn't have red hair.

And you know, I don't care how much Al looks like his father, Harry Potter is bloody _terrifying_.

"Yes?" He looked at me as if he expected me to maybe offer to sell him some candy bars or something. And then he smiled, "Oh, your Scorpius Malfoy, aren't you?"

I nodded mutely. "It's good to meet you, sir."

"Call me Harry. Come in, come in. Al and Lily have told me about you."

And I wondered what they could possibly have said that would make my father's enemy look at me as if I were some long lost son, but then I was in the entranceway and your dad was calling, "Who was at the door, Harry?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Scorpius," he called back. "Al and Lily's friend."

"Malfoy's son?" And the way your dad said my name made me realize that you had lied, just a little. Some people still pushed the shame on us. Harry led me into the kitchen, where your dad was sitting at the table, papers spread around him. He glanced up at us and cursed, "Fucking Merlin, you'd pass for Malfoy any day."

"That doesn't mean he's like his father, Ronald." Your mum had appeared in the doorway and I was pretty sure that I might just drop dead, right there. I'd probably have caused less of an inconvenience dead, anyway. "Look at Al and Harry," she added as she crossed the room.

"Yes, well," your dad raised an eyebrow at me in obvious distaste, "Can we help you with something?"

"I was wondering…" I inhaled, remembering what my mother had always told me about deep breaths, "I wanted to ask your permission, to take Rose out this weekend."

It's a good thing Harry was there. Otherwise, I'm pretty sure the plates that burst into four billion shards would have torn me into pieces.

**( i )**

"He'll get over it," you told me that night, when I regaled you with the story.

"Sure."

"And if he doesn't, your dad can always walk me down the aisle."

I laughed, "Oh, Rose, can you imagine?"

You wrinkled your nose, "Oh, come on. Your dad loves me."

"Does he? I didn't even know he knew you." I knew you were joking.

"Oh, he does. We had lunch today." Or, maybe you weren't. "He thinks that I'm brilliant. And that I ought to have been in Slytherin."

I kissed your rose-petal-lips, "Well, maybe he's right."

"He's definitely right." You grinned, "Didn't you know? Malfoys are never wrong."

**a/n:** tell me what you think!  
(I've never considered writing ScoRose before, and I haven't read many ScoRoses, either, so I hope I didn't destroy anyone's impressions of them)  
xxx


	10. tessa fleet makes ten confessions

Story Ten : Tessa Fleet Makes Ten Confessions  
_It's like a book elegantly bound, but in a language you can't read  
__just yet._

Ten:  
See, we're Hufflepuffs, so the whole world thinks we're good – the nice guys, the nice girls, the ones who finish last. We're always expected to do the right thing and we're always expected to provide the shoulder-to-cry-on, the words of consolation. And okay, yeah, a lot of the time we're really bloody good at being _nice_.

But I've got to tell you, Albus Severus Potter, that the first time I heard your name, I burst into laughter. And it wasn't nice laughter, either.

Sorry, but your name is _just awful_– worse than Malfoy's, even.

Nine:  
Yellow might be the most unflattering color in the world. I was always jealous of you Gryffindors – red looks good on almost everyone, and if it doesn't, well, it's **red**. It just spells confidence.

And Merlin knows it looks good on _you_. The first time I saw you all in Gryffindor colors was second year, when you played your first Quidditch match against us, and oh, Merlin, I could barely keep my attention on the Quaffle with you flying around looking like _that_.

You won, and I begged a photograph off Creevey of you flying toward me while I darted toward the goal post clutching the Quaffle. I told him my parents wanted a picture of me playing, but really I wanted to get used to the sight of you in those colors so I wouldn't fuck up our next match.  
It didn't work.

I might have fancied you, just a bit.

Eight:  
Our conversations consisted of monosyllabic exchanges in Herbology, until Professor Longbottom attempted to "foster inter-house unity" by pairing Hufflepuffs with Gryffindors. At first he stuck me with Fee Thomas and you with Bobby Finch-Fletchley, but I knew that Bobby had been after Fee for ages, so I convinced him to switch partners with me.

And I'm pretty sure you were grateful, because Bobby is a bit of a pretentious arse.

Seven:  
Of course, then our conversations consisted of nonsense about herbs and fungi, which neither of us were all that interested in (thank Merlin).

The week that we had to wait for the Flickering Fairy-Fruit to settle in their new pots before we could continue our assignment, I started asking you about Quidditch and you got this look in your too-green eyes, like maybe I wasn't the most boring thing on the planet.

Then, of course, the Flickering Flitting Fruit (or what-the-fuck-ever) lit up like your eyes and we had to start harvesting it.

Herbology is so very frustrating, Al.

Six:  
Your little sister terrified me.

She snuck up behind me when I was walking down to the kitchens to get some late-night snacks for the Hufflepuff Wednesday Night Study Group (oh, shut up).

"Oi, Fleet." I turned, and she stood there, glaring up at me, "You've got to destroy Gryffindor on Saturday, all right? I can't handle having Al and James lord it over my head, and Hugo and I've placed a fairly sizeable bet that you lot will win."

It was always about Quidditch, even when it wasn't.  
And I somehow thought that this was one of those times that it wasn't.

"Yeah, all right, Lily."

"You'd better _crush_ them." She turned to leave and a part of me thought she might know how I felt about you. Might be testing me.  
But maybe that was crazy.

Five:  
You came running into the Great Hall and you grabbed Rose from the Ravenclaw Table and summoned Scorpius and Lily from the Slytherin Table with a frantic wave and you didn't even glance at us, at my table.

So I followed you lot up the stairs and there was your friend Finnegan bleeding from the head and looking like death. Rose muttered something about "bloody idiot duels" before casting a healing charm that stopped the blood but didn't fix the cut.

I'd have done better.

Four:  
"Rapier Reeds hurt like hell if you touch them, so be careful, and be sure to wear your protective gear."

"Even Professor Longbottom can't make this plant sound dangerous," you muttered as we slid on goggles – which only made your bloody eyes greener, by the way. The plant had fuzzy pink leaves that were waving slowly, languidly, and I agreed with you.

And then Professor Longbottom left for a few minutes and Bobby did something typically idiotic and started spurting blood _everywhere_ and Fee started screaming and you shoved me back, trying to keep me away from the flailing plant and the sobbing idiot.

I just pushed past you and cast the freezing charm Longbottom had told us to use _before_ attempting to do anything with the plants. The cut was too deep for me to deal with on my own, so I sent a perfunctory healing charm at Finch-Fletchley – good enough to keep his blood inside until I could get him up to the infirmary.

I didn't like the way you looked at me, like I had surprised you, or something.

Three:  
You told me I'd done brilliantly. I told you I'd done what any sane person would've done.

I tried not to be too thrilled when you included me in the "healing party" the next time one of your stupid Gryffindor mates got himself split open in a duel.

And I tried not to be too hopeful when I overheard Lily telling you, "I think that she's not the typical Hufflepuff. I think that you should get over yourself."

Although I _was _offended. I wasa typical Hufflepuff – we're not weak or cowardly, we're just _good_. (Which takes a hell of a lot more strength than your Gryffindor imbecility or Lily's Slytherin cunning or Rose's Ravenclaw wisdom.)

Two:  
_Dear Tess:  
__Thanks again for fixing me up on the Hogwarts Express at the end of term. I know, I know it was stupid to get in a fight with Finch-Fletchley, but he was being a right git._

_He deserved it._

_Anyway, just wanted to thank you properly. My mum would have murdered me if she found out I was fighting on the train._

_How's summer been for you? Any chance you'd want to meet up in Diagon Alley sometime?_

_Yours,  
__Al_

_Dear Tess:_

_I'm heading to Diagon Alley this Tuesday. Want to meet me there?_

—_Al_

_Tess—_

_Last chance for Florean Fortescue's on me._

—_Al_

_Dear Al,_

_Sorry, I was travelling all summer, and I just got your notes. I'd have loved to meet up with you, but seeing as how we leave for Hogwarts in two days, it's likely too late. I'll buy you Honeyduke's chocolates first Hogsmeade Weekend to make up for it, all right?_

_See you at King's Cross!  
__Yours,  
__Tess_

One:  
My usual alarm clocks don't sound like stones against my window, but I suppose they worked just as well. Or better, because stones against my window got me up and out of my house in five seconds flat.

"Al? What're you doing here?"

"I wanted to see you."

"What for? Couldn't it wait?"

"I've been waiting for_ever_ for this."

Turns out this Hufflepuff isn't always a nice girl.

**a/n:  
**I've never written a Hufflepuff before (which I realized when trying to figure out who to pair Al with. I figured I shouldn't leave them out entirely. So there it is.)

Hope you liked, and reviews are love!


	11. ris parkinson gives in ten times

Story Eleven : Ris Parkinson Gives in Ten Times  
_these children learn from cigarette burns, fast cars, fast women, and cheap drinks_

Ten  
Gingers annoyed me. All throughout my childhood, when I saw a kid with red hair, I'd beg my mother to curse it.  
She never did, but that's beside the point. The point is that gingers annoyed me. Isn't there a Muggle name for that disease – gingervitis or something? You'd think they'd have come up with a cure for it by now.

You can imagine my horror when I was ushered into the Great Hall squeezed between _two_ red-headed, freckle-faced kids. And how much more horrified I was when the girl started chattering my ear off and the boy (that's you, Hugo, in case you hadn't caught on) rolled his eyes at me as if I would commiserate over the antics of Freak Number One with Freak Number Two.  
I mean, honestly.

I can't even tell you how happy I was that I was ahead of both of you in line – at least I wouldn't need to worry about being contaminated with your ginger-ness by putting on the Hat after you.

Of course, then the bloody thing had to go and contaminate my whole house by sorting Ginger Freak One into Slytherin. You know, someone should have told it that war-hero-spawn belongs in Gryffindor, so we could properly hate you all from across the Hall.

But no, the hat had to stick bloody Lily Potter in Slytherin and you in Ravenclaw and really how the hell was I supposed to cope with famous red hair at such constant close proximity?

It's really difficult to hate your cousin.  
And next to impossible to hate you.

So I gave in and let myself be infected.

Nine  
Lily told me that her brother (James – the older one) thought we were evil. I informed her that we were, and she laughed like I was joking. I let her believe I was. Disillusioning Potters is not my job, and besides, I had more pressing issues to discuss with her.

"What about your cousin? What does he think of Slytherins?"

"He doesn't care about houses. He went into Ravenclaw because he didn't think he could survive Gryffindor or Slytherin and because his dad would destroy him if he had gone into Hufflepuff."

Maybe the curls in your hair overrode its redness. Maybe the smile on your soft lips (so unusually directed at us) broke through my barricade against all things Weasley.

See the thing is, Hugo, you ended up spending all your time with Slytherins anyway, so I don't get why you didn't just join us in the first place.  
You must have regretted it. But then, you were one of us, regardless.

Eight  
You took a breath that sounded loud in the stacks of the library, and I looked up from my book to shoot a glare at you. Instead of shutting up, which is what I'd intended, you spoke, "Hey, Ris?"

"What, Hugo?" Can you really blame me if I sounded exasperated? I mean, honestly, I'd been trying to finish my Potions essay for _years_ and bloody Lily had already finished hers and skived off to write a letter and yours was looking suspiciously near completion. And here you were, _talking_ to me.

"Do you think you'll ever tell your mum you're friends with me?" And then you added in a rush, "And Lily?"

We were working on an essay about antidotes. I have no idea what your comment had to do with _that_. "Why are you so anxious for her to know? Honestly, Hugo, it's not like my mother and I are all that close." I stretched, glancing surreptitiously over at your essay to see if you had written anything that I could not-so-surreptitiously copy, "Besides, have you told your dad and mum you're friends with me? Has Lil, for that matter?"

"Yeah." That got my attention.

"Wait, you did?"

"Well, yeah." Your eyes were all scrunched up the way they got when you felt defensive, "I mean, I'm no Slytherin, and they asked if I had made any friends yet. Telling them about you seemed the better option."

"What'd they say?"

"They hoped you were as loyal to me as your mum was to her friends." He paused. "Or, that's what my mum said. I haven't heard from my dad in a while. He may have had a heart attack when they got my owl. Or my mum might've told him he can't write until he's come up with something nice to say."

I laughed, "That's kind of your mum, I suppose. Definitely better than what my mother would say. Did Lily tell her parents?"

You nodded. "But I don't know how they reacted. I think that she might've told them that you were going to be _best friends_ in the same owl that she told them about being sorted into Slytherin, so I'm guessing that they were rather distracted by an overload of news. You know how Lily can be."

I nodded, "Any chance you'd let me copy your essay?"

"Sorry, Parkinson, you're on your own. I'll see you tomorrow." And then you were gone and I thought that I should have told you something. Like, that I'd promise to tell my mother about you.

But I didn't want to know what her reaction would be.

Seven  
_Dear Ris:_

_I hope that school is going well. I wanted to let you know that I am very proud of you for being sorted into Slytherin.  
__I'm sorry I got this out so late, I was in New Zealand and owl post is absolutely terrible there.  
__I hope this letter finds you well.  
__Love,  
__Mother_

_Dear Mother,  
__School is going brilliantly. I've made two wonderful friends – Lily and Hugo – and a few other not-so-wonderful ones.  
__Thing is, Lily's last name is Potter and Hugo's is Weasley. And they're both really great, and neither are Gryffindors, so don't be too disappointed, all right?  
__Love,  
__Ris_

I snorted as I balled up the sheet of parchment and tossed it into the fire, rolling my eyes at Lily when I caught her watching me. "Mum."  
She nodded, not asking for any more explanation than that.

You were sprawled across the floor in front of the fire, and you, of course, asked for more, "What were you trying to tell her? Do you want help?"

"I can write a letter on my own, Hugo." It's good to know that I can keep my tone scathing, if I really need to.  
At least you haven't softened me that much.

Six  
Ron Weasley answered the door. Ron bloody Weasley. Answered the door.  
Look, Hugo, I get that you think your family is all _not famous_ or whatever, but they are, okay? So you should really get some house elves – oh, that's right. Your mum is Hermione bloody Weasley.  
Okay, you should really _hire_ a butler. That would work.

If you had a butler I would have been saved the absolute awkwardness of staring up at your famous father (who I was raised to hate, and who has good reason to hate me) and asking, as politely as I possibly can, "Is Hugo here, please?" A raised eyebrow is all that I got in response to _that_. "I'm Ris, a friend from school?"

"Of course you are."

"Please?"

He stepped aside, calling up the stairs, "Hugo, someone's here to see you."

And then you came flying down them and had your arms around me and you looked up at your dad as if daring him to say something, anything, "Ris will be staying with us for a few weeks, all right, Dad?"

It wasn't really a question, but he smiled at you, anyway, "We'll talk about it later, Hugo."

I'm not sure how you won that one. But you did. Which meant that I didn't have to go back home to my mother and her latest boytoy.

So thank you.

Five  
After fifth year, I thought about going home with Lily for the summer, but you told me that I wasn't allowed to.

"No, she's the worst possible person to be around in the summer. It's too hot for her, and she starts whining like nothing else. You'd better just come home with me again. It's no problem, really."

"It's true," Lily snatched the sugar quill that was dangling from your hand and stuck it between her teeth as she lazily swirled one hand in the cool water of the lake. "I'm perfectly miserable all summer. Hugo'll be more fun, even though you'll have to put up with Uncle Ron."

"Is that what this is about?" You looked relieved for some reason, "You know he was starting to like you at the end of last summer."

"Yeah, but then I left for school and he probably hates me just as much as he did when I showed up at the end of second year."

You rolled your eyes, "Oh, bull, Ris. My dad's not a bad person, he just takes a while to change his opinion on things. I've been writing letters home all year telling them how much help you've been in my classes and how funny and nice you are."

Lily snorted and I stared, "You've been lying to them, you mean."

"Well, it's for a good reason."

See, this is what I'm saying – you should've been in Slytherin.

Four  
"How's your mother doing, Ris?"

I had stupidly come down to your kitchen early to get some breakfast, and your dad was sitting at the table. I sat hesitantly across from him and prayed that he wouldn't say a word to me.  
No luck.

"I'm not really sure. I haven't heard from her in ages," I was trying to seem interested in the patterns the milk made in my tea, but I think I rather failed.

"You two don't get along?" It's strange how you and your dad are both bloody blunt, but somehow you manage to convey sensitivity and somehow he doesn't.

"I'm sure you know, Mr. Weasley, that my mother could be a bit of a bitch. She hasn't grown up much."

For some reason, your dad took a liking to me after that.

Three  
It was morning, later in the summer, and I was sitting in your garden trying to write a note to my mum. I wondered if she would even get it, if I sent it. I was pretty sure she was travelling.

You fell down beside me, still dressed in your pajama bottoms and ratty tee-shirt, and you leaned your head against my shoulder, "You're pretty, you know that?"

I turned to look at you, "It's a bit early to be drunk, Hugo."

"I'm not drunk. I'm just honest." You considered that for a moment. "To you. I'm honest to you and I want you to know that you're pretty and that I think I'm in love with you."

"Took you long enough."

Two  
"Just now, really?" Lily had come over in the afternoon for a visit, and she was glaring at us in exasperation.

"What do you mean?" You asked.

"I mean, I thought you'd be all over each other all summer. Why'd it take you this long, Hugo?"

He grinned, "I thought she'd make the first move."

I rolled my eyes, "I seduce. I do not _make moves_."

One  
If our kids have red hair, I'm spelling it black the instant they're born. I don't care how much pain I'm in – I refuse to bring more gingers into this world.

**a/n:** I've really enjoyed writing these - I'm tragicalized (it's so a word, guys) that there's only one more. But the one more _is _Lily/Teddy, which is yay. :-)  
Reviews are adored.


	12. teddy lupin saw lily ten times

story twelve : ten times teddy saw lily (_like that_)  
_you'll always be my thunder_

**ten**.  
I apparated into your kitchen the night of your sixteenth birthday to find you standing in the middle of the room, glaring around you in all this righteous indignation – your eyes _daring _your family to say something.

But they never took your dares.

"What's going on?" And when everyone turned to stare at me I saw tears trembling at the corners of your eyes. Harry (who _never_ got angry) was livid and Ginny (who _always _got angry) was hurt, and James and Al (who hated drama) looked about to jump into the middle of the whole thing.

What whole thing, though, I had no idea. So I asked, "Lil? Are you all right?"

And I knew before I asked that you weren't. But you smiled brightly and falsely at me and I was shocked because you never lied to me but that smile was a lie. "Hey, Ted. Yeah, I'm fine. "

Harry swallowed his anger and Ginny tamped down her hurt and James and Al came over to greet me and it was as if I hadn't walked in on a legendary Potter family argument in the making. But I so obviously had that all the way through your birthday dinner, through the curry dishes and the naan, the dragon-shaped cake and the presents, I couldn't focus on the smile on your lips or the happy banter jumping between James and Al. I could only focus on the slight redness in your eyes, the way you smiled as you unwrapped gift after gift – jumpers and makeup and books and shit like that, stuff that showed that you were growing up so fast that your family had no idea what you liked anymore – until you unwrapped mine, which was childish as hell but something that I had _had_ to get for you.

Because the thing is, you can be as adult as you are, Lil, and still be a child sometimes.

You tugged the blanket from the wrapping paper and smiled, the way you only smiled when I said something particularly amusing or kind, and held it up for your family to coo over. The silver fabric rippled soft against your fingertips as you traced the green dragon embroidered across the surface, and when your eyes met mine I could barely tell that you had been crying. "Like it?" I asked.

"It's so _soft_." And that wasn't really an answer, and I didn't really need one. I always knew with you, Lil, and I knew that you loved it.

Al and James rolled their eyes and your parents smiled at me like I was maybe still clinging too tightly to the you that you had been, back when a blanket would have been an expected gift. But they didn't need to understand that what you wanted most out of life – right at that moment, on the evening of your sixteenth birthday – was not to feel grown up, but to feel _safe_. And yeah, all right. Maybe you wanted them to look at you as if you were an adult, maybe you only liked the blanket _because _it was from me, because you knew that I already saw you as an adult. But your family didn't need to know any of that. All they needed to know was that your fingers stayed on that blanket the entire evening, playing against its soft surface as we talked about how different Hogwarts was going to be for your sixth year or about how Ris and Hugo were being idiots or about Al's plans now that he was done with school.

I followed you up to your room to say goodnight just before I left, and you collapsed on your bed, wrapping the soft fabric of the blanket around your face and breathing into it as if it could clear the air of all the unanswered questions surrounding us.

"It's just," you began as soon as I shut the door and fell to the floor to lean against it, because I couldn't trust myself to be anywhere near you, not with your hair all curly wild around your face and your jeans torn exactly at your freckled knee and your shirt falling off one shoulder because it was slightly too big for you. "It's just that they don't understand, Ted."

"Understand what?"

"I asked – very nicely – if I could go visit Uncle Charlie over winter hols. It makes perfect sense, see, because I was thinking about staying at school anyway, so I wouldn't be home either way. But Mum and Dad outright refused and they wouldn't even let me explain why I wanted to go to Romania, and Al and James bloody sided with them." You pouted, resting your chin on your knees and glaring across the room at me. "It's not fair, Ted."

"Why _do _you want to go to Romania?" It was the first I had heard of this plan, although I could guess your reasons. You had been fascinated by dragons since the first time your Uncle Ron had mentioned them to you, and Hagrid was always saying how you were the best in the school at Care of Magical Creatures.

"For the dragons." And when I shot you my usual _No, really?_ look, you rolled your eyes, "Because I'm not sure of what I want to do with my life after Hogwarts, but working with dragons sounds perfect. I don't want to go into that without knowing for sure, though. So I thought it'd be good to at least see what Uncle Charlie does before I choose my NEWT level classes." You were silent a moment, "That sounds well-thought out, doesn't it?"

I nodded, "Very. I don't know why your parents won't let you go. Look, maybe I can talk to them, try and at least find out why they refused."

"I fight my own battles, Ted." Your voice was hard and I wanted to tell you that _of course_ you did, everyone knew that, but that it might be good to let me help you, just this once.

"All right. I won't say anything."

But of course I did. I dropped a kiss on your head and told you that I had to get home, and just before I disapparated I asked Harry if I could talk to him. He raised an eyebrow at me when I sat beside him, talking before I could ask him anything. "Teddy, we know Lily. We'd rather she not spend a month with no one to supervise her."

"Charlie will be there. Just give her a chance to prove that she's responsible, Harry."

"She's just a kid."

And there was the real issue, what would always be the real issue, if Harry and Ginny and the boys never realized that you weren't just a kid. That you had never been _just_ a kid, but that you really weren't just a kid _now._

"She's about to make decisions that will shape the rest of her life, and she wants to make sure that she makes the right ones. That sounds pretty mature to me." He stared at me in silence for a moment, and I could see the barely hidden anger in his eyes, "Just give her the chance to explain herself, all right? Just hear her out, please. Otherwise, she'll be unbearable."

And he nodded, and I thought that my job was probably done.

**nine.**  
Of course, I regretted talking to Harry when you went to Romania and came back smelling of fire and burning with passion. It was selfish, I know, but all that passion was focused on a place so far away from me. You had become distant from my world of takeaway Chinese and warm beers under firefly flecked skies.

And it was ironic because I only wanted my world if you were somewhere in it.

**eight.  
**Summer after your sixth year you took off to stay with Charlie for a month (and I was blessed that it was only a month) and Victoire came to visit me. Those two things likely had very little to do with one another, but they're linked in my mind.

Vic was carrying little Etoile in one arm and Olive in the other and she looked as if she was about ready to drop dead of exhaustion, so I took Olive and bounced her in my arms. Vic fell onto my couch, letting Etoile crawl around on the floor. I hoped that I hadn't left any chopsticks or bottle caps lying around – my flat was not particularly kid friendly.

"What's up?" I asked her, after she seemed to have gained a little strength from the support provided by the ratty sofa.

"I just needed a place to crash for a few hours." She scrubbed a hand through her hair, "Roger's out of town and for some reason my mother thought it would be nice if she moved in with me for the two weeks he's away." She shook her head, "She's driving me insane."

"Why didn't you leave the kids with her?" I sat down and rested Olive on my knee, "Or will she make them crazy too?"

"She'll let them eat whatever they want, and then I'd have had to deal with hyper kids in addition to my mother." She glanced around the flat, "But I didn't come here to talk about her. I just figured you'd be the only one of my friends at home, seeing as it is a Friday night. In June."

"I know, I know I have no life."

"You really don't, though. Why don't you do something? Change it up a bit?"

I sighed. We had been over this so very many times, "I go out sometimes. I do have friends, you know."

"I know." She looked hesitantly at me for a moment, "No one would hate you if you finally admitted it."

"Admitted what?"

She stared, "Honestly, Ted. You're in love with Lily. I can tell."

I remained silent for a few moments. Then I said the only thing I really could say, "I'll look after Ollie and Etoile if you want to go out tonight."

And she looked grateful, so grateful that I thought she might drop it. But then, just as she was leaving, she looked at me, long and hard, the way she used to just before I broke up with her (_for you_). "Just tell her, Ted. She loves you too, I guarantee it."

The problem, though, was not how we felt about each other. It wasn't even what Victoire, or Rose or Fred, or any of the others, thought of us.

The problem was what the whole bloody world (the one beyond my door and past your dragons) thought.

**seven.**  
You positively _shined_ when you got back from Romania for the second month of summer. I hadn't thought that I could even be any more attracted to you, but the sun had brought out freckles across your cheeks and your rare smiles had become more frequent and more natural and your eyes glittered with contentment and I couldn't regret your choices, if they made you that happy.

You Flooed into my flat the night you got back and collapsed on top of me, your arms wrapping me into a hug and your to-infinity legs straddling me and _oh, Merlin,_ if only I were even five years younger or you were five years older.

But then you were talking, telling me all about Romania and the dragons and your favorite, who you had named Teddy after me because he reminded you of me and because you missed me and I didn't feel flattered,I _didn't_.  
Except that I did.

**six.  
**Your seventeenth birthday was less dramatic than your sixteenth, and everyone seemed a lot less stressed. And _everyone_ was there.

I apparated into your yard this time, sure that I would land on top of someone if I even attempted to go straight into your house, and I saw Hugo and Ris muttering by the side door. I walked up to them, but they shut up as soon as they saw me.

"Hi, Ted."

"Hey, guys. How's Lil?"

"Good," Hugo responded, just as Ris said, "Nervous."

I raised an eyebrow at the Slytherin, "Nervous about what?"

Hugo elbowed her, but she kept on anyway, "You."

That surprised me. "What about me?"

Ris grinned, and Hugo muttered something about bloody meddling idiot Slytherins as he took her hand and tried to drag her away, but before he managed to pull her completely inside the house she said, "You'd better do right by her, Theodore. I can make anyone's life hell. Even yours. Especially yours, if you hurt her."

With the exception of you, Lily, Slytherins are mad crazy.  
(Although, maybe you're not such an exception.)

**five.  
**You didn't seem nervous. You didn't pull at your (wild) hair or rub at your (swan) neck or bite at your (delectable) lips, the way you often did when you were anxious. You smiled at everyone and laughed at everyone's jokes, even the ones that your very un-funny friend Damien came up with.

But after everyone left, just as I was about to grab one last slice of cake and find my way home or to the Leaky, I hadn't quite decided yet, you took my hand and led me into the backyard. You looked up at me for one very tense minute and then you asked, "Do you ever wonder if something out there – fate, or whatever – hates us?"

And I smiled because otherwise I might have broken into crazy laughter, "Every day."

"Do you ever wonder if fate or time or distance – do you ever wonder if they matter?"

"No. I know they don't."

And your lips, when I finally allowed myself to taste them, were dry and chocolaty and somehow very, very perfect.

**four.  
**We decided that we'd ruin it if we thought about it. About things beyond it, I mean, because both of us thought about there actually being an _us_ constantly. We thought about the way our hands felt when they caught against each other and the way our noses felt when they bumped awkwardly and the way our laughs sounded when they mixed in delightedly clear night air. We thought about how our owls knew the quickest routes to one another, and how your handwriting became more familiar to me than my own and how mine sent thrills through your veins.

We didn't think about the fact that we would have to tell everyone, sometime. We didn't talk about the age difference and we most certainly did not mention your dragon-chasing ambitions.

_Us_ was a fragile thing, and we were terrified of damaging it.

**three.  
**Harry was standing in the door to my flat.

_Harry_ – as in your dad, my godfather, Harry – was _standing_ in the door to my flat.

"Hi."

"Hi, Teddy. Mind if I come in?"

I wanted to tell him that yes, I minded. I minded very much. Because he ought not to know that you had just spent the weekend and there was a half-full mug of coffee in the sink marked with your favorite red lip gloss and one of your favorite jumpers was hanging over the back of my couch and you had left some old notebooks on the coffee table, so if he came in there was really no way to keep it from him.

But I couldn't really tell him any of that so I stepped aside and led him into the kitchen, because a nondescript coffee mug is less incriminating than notebooks and a jumper. "Would you like anything to drink? Tea, coffee, water?"

"No, thank you." He was being strangely formal. Very strange for Harry as my godfather. Not so strange, I recognized, for Harry as your father.

"Is this about Lily?" Because, yeah, it might have been better to fake ignorance until I was sure what he was there about. You probably would have done that. But I'm a Gryffindor, Lil. We're different.

Harry's eyes pinned me to the wall, "It's about Lily. And you."

I nodded, "We didn't want anyone to know."

"She's seventeen, Teddy. You might have at least come to speak with me and Ginny first."

"I should have. But it…I didn't plan for it to happen." Although _you _probably had. "I have been in love with Lily for a while, but I never expected anything would happen between us. You have to know, Harry, that I didn't want to hurt anyone. Lily and I thought it might be easier, at first, if we didn't have to deal with everyone's speculation. And we included you and Ginny in that group – we shouldn't have, but we did – and I'm sorry about that. I'm sorry that we didn't come to tell you, and I'm sorry that you found out…however you did find out."

"Victoire told us." He considered me for a few moments, "You say you're in love with Lily."

"Of course I am."

"She's my daughter, and I want the best for her. You do too, I've always known that." He was silent another moment, "I've always hoped, if she had to fall in love with anyone, that it would be you."

And after that, I assumed that we would be fine.

**two.  
**"I have to train in Russia for one year before I can be reassigned somewhere nearer home."

"We'll be fine."

"One year, Ted."

"It's just a year, Lily. What's that, to the rest of our lives?"

"Or…you could come with me, and we could start the rest of our lives now."

"I'll visit every month, I promise. But I'll need to find a new job, Lil. It'll take time."

"Every month. You swear?"

"Cross my heart and hope to die."

**one.  
**You spread out your so-soft silver and green dragon blanket on the grass behind our new cottage in the wilds of Romania and I sprawled across it, snatching your hands and pulling you down on top of me. The moonlight glowed silver across your skin and the stars must have been jealous of the way your eyes shined.

"So now what?" You asked me, as if I had all the answers.

"Now you do your job, I do mine, and we live happily ever after."

"I don't want that."

"No?"

"Happily ever after is overrated."

I pressed a gentle kiss to your lips and murmured against them, "So what do you want, then?"

"You."

"I'm yours."

"My Teddy," the words sounded like a promise, "Mine."

FIN

**a/n: **I can't decide if this sickeningly sweet or just sweet enough. Hopefully, if it is sickeningly sweet, it's the kind of sick you get after you've eaten so much chocolate you can barely think but it was all very worth it. [ha. let me know what you think!]  
Also, throwback Lily - way back to the first Lily/Teddy fic I wrote, in which Lily chased dragons and Teddy was lost.  
Or that's how I look at it _now._ Then, I'm pretty sure I thought - oh, dragons, _yay. _Lost boy, yum!


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